


Boxers or Briefs

by petersnotkingyet



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: AU, AU: the fire alarm went off at 3 am and now my cute neighbor is standing next to me in his underwear, Bitty and Ransom and Holster are all in college, Finals, Getting Together, Jack is a pro, M/M, ransom and holster shouldn't bake
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-31
Updated: 2015-05-31
Packaged: 2018-04-02 05:18:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4047565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/petersnotkingyet/pseuds/petersnotkingyet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first thing Jack noticed was that the building didn’t look like it was on fire, but he figured it could have been in one of the apartments without windows.  The second thing Jack noticed was his neighbor.  They had never actually spoken, but the guy was tiny and kind of cute in a way that made him memorable.  Usually, he was pretty well-dressed, but now he was shivering in his boxers.  Just his boxers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Boxers or Briefs

A few minutes past three AM, Jack woke up to a blaring, ungodly noise. It took him a couple of seconds to place the sound as the fire alarm, but he shoved his shoes on, grabbed a sweatshirt, and headed for the stairs as soon as he did. Most of the building had already emptied onto the street, and the cloud of breath they produced looked like a dragon had taken residence on the street. It was cold, and everyone was grumpy to have been dragged out of their beds this early.

The first thing Jack noticed was that the building didn’t _look_ like it was on fire, but he figured it could have been in one of the apartments without windows. The second thing Jack noticed was his neighbor. They had never actually spoken, but the guy was tiny and kind of cute in a way that made him memorable. Usually, he was pretty well-dressed, but now he was shivering in his boxers. Just his boxers. The blond’s cheeks and nose were red, his bare toes were curled against the pavement, and his arms were wrapped around his torso.

“Here,” Jack said, pulling his sweatshirt over his head and handing it to the younger boy. For a second, the guy looked like he might turn him down, but then he shivered hard and accepted the hoodie. “I’m Canadian. It’s not like I’m cold.”

“Thanks,” the blond said, laughing a little. He was so short that the hoodie almost completely covered his boxers, and his hands disappeared within the sleeves. “I was still pretty much asleep when I walked out, and I guess I didn’t think to grab… anything.”

“Finals kicking your ass?” Jack asked. It wasn’t creepy that he knew the guy was a student—he’d just noticed that he wore Samwell sweatshirts from time to time.

The blond nodded. “I get in this zone when I’m freaking out, and I sort of lose track of time,” he said. “I didn’t get home from the library until midnight, and now it looks like I’m going to be taking the stupid exam on three hours of sleep.”

Before Jack could respond, two big guys in Samwell sweats rushed over yelling. The blond guy looked fondly exasperated, so Jack assumed he knew them. They were talking over each other so much that Jack had no idea they were trying to communicate. The tiny blond—he had to distinguish because now there were two blond guys—seemed to understand them, because he responded with, “Y’all shouldn’t even own an oven! You’re old enough to vote for the leader of this country, but you can’t manage to make _cinnamon rolls_ without setting off the fire alarm.”

The two big guys had the decency to look (or pretend to look) ashamed. “You know Ransom gets stressed, Bitty,” the blond one pleaded. “We needed the cinnamon rolls. Comfort food.”

Jack’s neighbor—Bitty apparently, although that didn’t sound like a real name to Jack—sighed. “I promise I’ll make you both snacks next year,” he said. “Just… don’t try to cook anything else.”

“Sure,” the big blond guy agreed. “Whose sweatshirt are you wearing? It looks like a dress on you.”

Bitty huffed and crossed his arms over his chest, but the effect was ruined by the sleeves flopping around. “I got home late, so I just went to bed in my underwear,” he said. The two guys giggled a little, but the smaller boy didn’t look deterred. “Thanks to you two nimrods, I would have frozen to death without this kind Canadian gentleman.”

The two guys seemed to notice Jack for the first time. “Frozen to death is probably a little bit of an exaggeration,” Jack said awkwardly. “He would have lived. Just… been really cold.”

“What part of Canada are you from?” the slightly smaller guy.

“Montreal,” Jack answered, relieved that they hadn’t commented on his awkwardness.

“I grew up outside of Toronto. I’m Ransom, by the way.” He held out a hand, and Jack shook it. “This is Holster, and it looks like you already met Bittle.”

“Eric,” the small blond interrupted. “Bittle’s my last name, and most of the guys on the team just call me Bitty.”

“Jack Zimmerman,” Jack responded.

“I knew you looked familiar!” Ransom exclaimed. Holster’s eyes were bugging out, but Bitty just looked confused.

“Bittle,” Holster whined, “you find Jack Zimmermann, and you don’t even have a reaction?”

“I… uh…” Bitty trailed. “Is that… significant? He’s been my neighbor all semester.”

Holster sighed heavily and pulled Bittle against his chest. The smaller blond huffed and flailed around, trying to smack Holster with the sleeves of Jack’s sweatshirt, but the older boy had his arms pinned to his sides. “Bitty, I love you, but you’re a forward on a college hockey team, and you don’t know who Jack Zimmermann is. Do you even know who Bad Bob is?”

“No?” Bittle said, sounding more like a question than a statement.

“He’s my dad,” Jack supplied.

“Four Stanley Cups,” Ransom whispered reverently. “Four.”

The fire chief exited the building, saving Bittle from having to respond. “You’re all good to go back inside, everybody,” he called. “It was just a small kitchen fire. There’s no serious damage.”

With a jumble of, “Bye, it was nice to meet you,”s, Ransom and Holster disappeared into the crowd rushing back inside. Jack and Bitty made their way up the stairs together, and Bitty took the sweatshirt off once they reached their floor.

“Thanks for letting me borrow that,” Bitty said, sounding almost shy, as he handed it to Jack.

“No problem,” Jack responded. The younger boy turned to go back into his apartment, and Jack cleared his throat at the last second. “Hey, Bittle?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re a forward, right?”

“Yeah,” Bitty said. “I promise I really play hockey, even if I don’t know all the NHL stuff.”

“When you’re done with finals,” Jack said slowly, “do you want to scrimmage at the rink or get coffee or something?”

Bittle’s face lit up, and he nodded. “Yeah, that’d be awesome,” the younger boy said.

“Cool,” Jack said, relieved. “Good luck on your finals.”

“Thanks,” the small blond said with a smile. “Goodnight, Jack.”


End file.
